Only Human
by Pitite-Liline
Summary: [rated T for safety only] Because, in spite of everything, he was still only human…


**Author's note** :

Greetings, ladies and gentlemen !

This is my first (posted) attempt at writing in a "vague style". Hopefully, it won't either be confusing or too out-of-character (though I'm not that satisfied with the result but well…).

Please be aware that, as I am what I like to call a (mostly) unconventional pairings shipper, the pairing might be "startling" and/or "disappointing" to you. Therefore, please proceed reading at your own risk.

This is a pre-games story, taking place before the Mandalorian Wars.

Also, as English is not my mother tongue, I may have made mistakes. If you spot any, please do not hesitate to point it out so that I may correct them and improve :-)

And again, sorry about the format. I don't think I'll ever be able to present my stories as I wish… :'-(

And, of course, constructive criticisms and other feedbacks are welcomed.

Other than that, enjoy~!

 **Disclaimer :**

The Star Wars franchise belongs to Georges Lucas and Disney.

The Star Wars – Knights of the Old Republic games respectively belong to BioWare, Obsidian Entertainment and LucasArts.

The story itself belongs to Pitite-Liline.

 **Summary :**

Because, in spite of everything, he was still only human…

* * *

 **Only human**

* * *

He sees them together and he is _**seething**_.

His expression might betray none of his inner rage – for he is an actor, first and foremost, he acknowledges with reluctant pride – but one observant enough could notice the tension in his body, the tightness of his jaw betraying the gritting of his teeth, the narrowing of his darkened eyes, the whiteness of the knuckles of his tightly clenched and slightly trembling fists.

He sees them together and his vision slowly fills with red.

He sees too much – her subtle smiles, her light blushes, her coy glances to which the man responds with cocky smirks, mischievously glinting eyes and smart remarks.

He sees too much and it is painful. He witnesses their silent exchanges, the unspoken conversations they carry and share with no one but the other even when displayed to the public eye. He sees the wordless trust, the blind faith they have for each other.

He sees the utter adoration in her sky blue eyes when she looks at the man. And he sees the fondness in said man's every movements whenever he strokes her blonde hair. He sees the depth of their unspoken care whenever he let his fingertips brush against her skin in the lightest of touches – and in how she allows and welcomes it.

He sees the almost touches exulting a burning sensuality otherwise different but just as deep – _enthralling_ – as the contact of skin against skin.

He sees the depth of their affection for each other in the smiles and gazes they reserved only for the other, in the way they gravitate around each other – in the way they seek each other out and lean towards and on each other the way they don't rely on anyone else. He _feels_ the chemistry between them the way he feels a _sharp_ stabbing pain in his chest with each deeply painful beat of his – _b_ _ **ro**_ _k_ _ **e**_ _n_ – heart.

He tries – tries too _hard_ , he knows but doesn't care, not anymore – to get these reactions, these special heartfelt responses, for himself – the smiles, the blushes, the meekness, the laughs, this unique spark in her eyes, the _**love**_. His attempts are strong with determination but still, they come out as pitiful, if not downright pathetic. It causes confusion, embarrassment and awkwardness and, the Force forbids, even a slight – albeit unspoken – disgust. Yet, she still (h **e** s **it** a **n** t **ly** ) smiles at him, still grants him with a quiet ( **fo** r **c** e **d** ) chuckle, still gently ( **b** r **ie** fl **y** ) pats his shoulder in encouragement and her eyes still hold the glint of some (f **ai** n **t** ) esteem.

They aren't _quite_ the same – will never be, he knows – but he wills himself to ignore it. Yet – _still_ – he feels a rage like no other at his failures – burning and consuming but ever so concealed – and – the Jedi Code be damned ! – he hates _him_ , and _her_ but more so _himself_ – so flawed, not perfect, not enough, _never_ enough. He knows Jedi don't feel. They shouldn't feel. They reject attachments. They forbid love. But Force! He's only human. And whether he wills it or not, he _yearns_ **/** _ **loves**_. Whether he wills it or not, he _**mourns**_ **/** _hates_.

He wishes for her to belong to him and only him the way he already solely belongs to her – even if she doesn't know, or won't acknowledge, it. He _wants_ them to be meant to be and denies the knowledge they aren't, and buries the awareness they will never be.

And so, though it hurts, he tries, more often than not – more often than he's willing to acknowledge to himself – to be like _him_ , to **impersonate** _him_ – his behaviour, his strength, his (im)perfection – but, in the end, he is – _remains_ – but a poor reflection of the original. A _fake_.

Because though he tries and prays and hopes and hates and _**loves**_ , Mical is just Mical and Meetra Surik will only have eyes for the Prodigal Knight.

\- THE END


End file.
